snail shell underfoot and gloop
sticky, slimey scene,
unintelligent death.
water runs off the drain cover and pools
a gutter by the kerb.
a word - monday - but not by normal standards.
ahead a streetlamp audibly ticks on
and off and on and off
and keeps the time.
snail unsightly clings to it’s heavy cloud of grip,
bits of shell sat snugly in grooves
a mosque blown apart
and roof slats slot inbetween raindrops.
a long moan of anguish from a puncture
in a passing bicycle tyre
responds with a courtesy splash,
slow-motion and at an ideal timing
as to coincide with a shoe-lace tie:
the smell of dead foot lands sharp.
hovering over-shoulder a wasp braves late autumn.
ahead a group of ugly-looking youths.
the traffic gently kick-starts fumes.
mountains crumble in Peru.
I like it, I can't fault it.
not going viral

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